This Is My Land
by FoenFyre
Summary: Going home has always been the best medicine. America-centric


**Disclaimer: I'm American. My identity is all I own...I think...**

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****Summary**: Going home has always been the best medicine.

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**This is My Land**

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He's not been feeling very well today.

"And I suppose _this_ is your best plan?" Arthur is happily mocking his current proposal to put some money together into some research that could very well lead to the development of a new cure for the most current epidemic [_he's only ever cared about his people, and everyone is his people_], except Alfred hasn't gotten to that part yet and Arthur just had to hear "money" before cutting in.

It's not a good day for America, today.

Alfred's fingers dig into the table top _[somewhere construction continues, and an old building is demolished_] as Arthur goes on and on, "Something with giant robots, or--" His blue eyes darken behind his glasses [_but his smile stays on always, always_] as Arthur simply goes on and on and on, and he's edging on stormy [_He's been roused before, several times, and the aftermath has never been pretty_].

It's the usual summit, with the biggest powers lining the edge of the oval table: China, Germany, Russia, France, England...and he sits at one head as the others can never really let America out of their sight. [_They've learned the consequences of underestimating him before_].

And then, his demeanor shifts before it can be identified [_because America is a fool, and fools don't frown--maybe it is Russia who understands this the most_]. As usual, no one notices _[because he has to be loud_always_to be heard--that lesson Canada has yet to learn_], and Alfred smiles that beatific smile of his [_and Hollywood seems brighter and more brilliant all of a sudden, and downtrodden, rejected actors stand straighter, feeling hopeful all of a sudden_], and stands. He lifts his arms up, stretching until a few bones pop [_there's a tremor near San Fran, but it's gone just as quickly as it had come_], "We'll see, Iggy, we'll see. Anyway, I've got another meeting to get to," and waves a hand to all his fellow countries before striding off.

The U.S. attendant outside the room opens the door without pause just as Alfred approaches it, and he exits without so much as a good-bye.

It's silent as he leaves [_because America has to argue, to argue, and when he doesn't, there is a chill on the air_].

He nods to the people he passes in the halls as the attendant to his side starts to go over what is next on his schedule as he nods, politely, already having memorized the script already [_because it's always the same, even after over two centuries, and he feels he's better suited to memorizing scripts than anyone, except maybe India, but that Bollywood just cannot compare_].

He hums something soundlessly [_he's got so many songs from so many places its hard to tell just what he wants to sing_], his eyes flickering behind his glasses, until they catch on his plane. He boards, just remembering that before all this formality, it was he who flew planes through the Great Blue, but he dismisses the wish with a sigh and settles in to his seat as his seatbelt goes in with a '_click_'.

And then he smiles a softer smile as the sun peaks out from behind the clouds as the attendant releases a gasp [_for America is America the beautiful, you know?_], and Alfred feels better, not fully, but better again. Though the trip is hours long, he doesn't sleep [_he has__cities like Las Vegas and New York, and they never sleep_]. And it is with a bubbly delight that he jumps down the stairs to the rough ground of the landing strip, and something in him soars like an eagle in the sky [_this land is your land, this land is my land_], and he lets loose a laugh like nothing ever heard off of American soil.

"Is--is there something wrong sir?" The young man at his side [_little__Benjamin who sang his songs, scraped his knee on his soil, and married that nice Alicia in his old Philly_] asks with a hesitant smile.

"Nothing's wrong, Benny." Alfred grins, all teeth and feeling [_it's a Sunday morning and church choruses all over the nation sing like they've ascended to heaven and are just spreading the word about where they've been_].

"I'm just glad to be home."

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A/N: I chose the name Benjamin because it rhymes with American...Honestly, that was the hardest decision I had to make. Basically, this is about home, and I can't help but imagine that even our countries, being countries, would feel a little out of it being out of their countries (as I imagine this happening in some nondescript euro-location).

So an upset Alfred feels most comfortable on his land, just as anyone else would, especially after a hard day. Also, this was my inner fangirl's attempt at injecting some hidden depth into my favorite character (for reasons obvious). So, here. This is probably one of the few Hetalia fics without historical content out there...unless you recognized the vague mention of swine flu which was put there without even my knowning.


End file.
